


Week 1 Bonding

by redwoodroots



Series: Stanuary 2019 [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 08:16:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17504966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwoodroots/pseuds/redwoodroots
Summary: Someone tries to pay Stan with a goat.  Stan is Stan.  Chaos ensues.





	Week 1 Bonding

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before Mabel and Dipper arrive, and after Soos is "hired" (he's paid in paper clips, pocket lint and expired vending machine snacks, so the term is debatable).

“GET BACK HERE!”

“AAAGH!” 

Stan chased after the tourist, brandishing his cane in one hand and the crossbow in the other. The guy had tried to pay for his tour with a baby goat! What did he think this was, Medieval Europe?! Goats were not currency! Goats weren't even profitable! They just ate, pooped, and stank! 

Stan thought he was in decent shape for an old fat guy, but the skinny farmer sprinted to his truck like all the tax collectors in the state were on his heels. Plus that stupid baby goat was prancing around Stan and tripping him up. Even so, Stan nearly made it to the truck when the farmer hit the gas. The engine roared to life and dirt sprayed in Stan's face. He skidded to a stop, coughing and scraping at his eyes. 

There was a thunk and Stan looked down. The kid had keeled right over, all four legs straight out. 

“Oh, great, now he's dead! YOU PAID ME WITH A DEAD GOAT, YA MORON!” 

He swung up the crossbow and fired, but the truck hit a bend in the road. Instead of popping a tire the bolt just hit the license plate and jarred it loose. It fell off with a noisy rattle as the truck swung around the curve and disappeared, the other goats' bleating quickly fading from earshot. 

Swearing a blue streak under his breath, Stan went to retrieve the license plate. Never know when you'd need one to throw the cops off your trail. 

Now he had to decide what to do with a dead baby goat. The next tourist bus wasn't coming until noon, so he had about an hour to figure it out. He didn't really want to stuff it, but he couldn't think of anything else to do with it. Hey, maybe he could make his new mechanic do it instead – what was his name, Zeus or something? Sure, that'd work. He just had to get the goat out of the way until Soup came back from school. 

He reached the goat and bent down to grab its leg. 

“Baa-aa-aah.” 

“AAH!” 

He jumped back. The goat's ears and tail twitched, then it rolled over and looked up at him. 

“Baa-aa-aah,” it repeated insistently. 

“Yeesh, give me a heart attack already,” Stan growled, one hand over his chest. “If you're looking for food, you're lying in it. Grass, meet goat. Goat, meet lunch. Now stay outta the way, I got a business to run.” 

“Baa-aa-aah.” 

He went inside to work on more pun-related exhibits for the museum. Those wax figures had brought in a ton of money when he'd first set them up, but business had gone dry a week ago, and he needed another money maker and fast. Those portal parts didn't come cheap. 

The goat bleated from the porch for a solid twenty minutes, then he heard it clopping away. Stan snorted, then went back to gluing googly eyes on a plastic octopus. Maybe eight eyes, so it was like a combo spider-octopus? Yeah, that'd work. Now he just had to think of a catchy name for it. Or maybe Octo-spider? Arachnipus? Octo-Eyes? Hmm, maybe that'd work...

 

Stan came out of the Shack in time to greet the next tourist bus. He didn't see the kid anywhere, so maybe the dumb thing had wandered into the woods. Perfect, one less thing to worry about. He put everyone in the carts and drove 'em out to see random stuff in the forest, like the Tree of the Screaming Tourist. He told them the eerily twisted bark was an actual tourist whose spirit had been sucked into the tree when he refused to pay for the tour. (Everyone was suddenly very eager to pay him for the tour. And tip him. Generously.) 

He drove 'em back and waved them into the bus. Then he headed back to the Gift Shop. His pockets were practically bulging with cash. He definitely had to use that Screaming Tree story more often! Even if it kind of freaked him out. Wait, hadn't Ford's journal's mentioned something about – 

“Hi, Mr. Pines!” 

“AAH!” 

He jumped back for the second time that day, glaring down at Deuce, who was standing innocently in the doorway of the Gift Shop. 

“Geez, kid, make some noise when you move!” 

“Sure, Mr. Pines! By the way, I didn't know you had a pet goat!” 

Deuce moved aside. That dumb stinky nuisance was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled everywhere, its floppy tail thumping like a puppy's. 

“Baa-aa-aah!” 

He groaned. “That's _not_ a pet. And get it out of here! Smells like a moldy haystack, and I got some new attractions I need to make for the museum.” He stepped over the goat and strode to the craft counter in the corner. “Octo-Eyes was a huge hit! Taxidermic monstrosities are gonna make me a fortune!” 

“Couldn't we make this little guy an attraction too?” Moose asked behind him. “I bet you could even give him a punny name! Like 'Cutebacabra'!” 

Stan stopped and turned around. The goat looked up at him with those weird sideways pupils. 

“Yeah,” Stan said slowly, holding up both hands to frame the little moneymaker. “Yeah, the Cutebacabra! Glue on some fake wings, coupla cow legs – maybe some red paint drooling from its mouth! Ha, I love it!” 

Bruce beamed at him. “Thanks, Mr. Pines!” 

“Kid, gather every spare stuffed limb I've got and a ton of crazy glue. Then go set up a display for him in the museum. This creepy cuteness is gonna be our next main attraction!” 

Exactly forty-three minutes later, Stan was showing a new set of tourists into the museum. He'd already taken them to the Tree of the Screaming Tourist, and now he was gonna milk 'em dry. Zeus had rigged up a little stage and a red velvet curtain for Chompers. With a single grand gesture, Stan pulled it aside. Instantly the crowd went 'AAAAH!' and 'AWWW!'

He grinned and gestured grandly. Sluice had made it a little vest and glued on every spare animal limb they had. “That's right, folks, the rare baby Cutebacabra! The only one in the world! Pictures are five – no, fifty dollars each!” 

Immediately tourists stuffed good ol' Grants into his hands and snapped pictures, flashes going off in every direction. 

The goat's eyes went wide and it keeled over, legs straight out. 

A kid in the crowd screamed. “OH MY GOD IT'S DEAD!” 

“WE'RE CURSED!” 

“ _RUN FOR YOUR LIIIIFE!_ ” 

“Oh come on!” Stan shouted. He didn't bother chasing the tourists – he'd pick-pocketed them while they had their eyes on the goat, and he knew they didn't have even two bucks left among the lot of them. But why in the name of Paul Bunyan did the goat keep playing dead?! If it had done that two seconds earlier it would've cost him all those picture fees! 

“I'm back with the goat feed, Mr. Pines,” Puce said, poking his head into the Museum. He was dragging a forty-pound bag of feed. “You didn't give me any money, so I had to pay Mr. Sprotts with three hours of child labor.” Then he caught sight of the goat, turned white, and dropped the bag. “SWEET MOSES HE'S DEAD?!” 

“No he's not,” Stan scowled. He reached out and poked the goat with a foot. The goat twitched, then flipped upright and started gnawing on one of the cow hoofs taped to its back. “See?”

The goat bleated and head-butted him.

“Aw, he likes you!” Spruce said.

“Ugh, get it offa me. The darn thing's defective!” He paused. “Then again, if I could get it to do it on command...” Imagine the look on people's faces if he walked his goat into traffic, then made them think they'd hit his Prize German-Australian Longhair Goat! They'd pay through the nose just to keep him from suing them! 

“Eh, he probably just has that myotonic thing. Or maybe it was myopia? I always get those two mixed up.”

“Mia-what?” 

The gumdrop shrugged. “Myotonia. Mr. Sprotts told me about it. You know how people get startled, and then they freeze up? It's like that, but for goats. And it lasts for longer, like their muscles seize up or something. It doesn't hurt them or anything,” he added, “but it is a genetic thing. Mr. Sprotts said a lot of his goats got it from the toxic waste dump.” 

“So he's being literally scared stiff?” 

Moose laughed. “Good one, Mr. Pines!”

The goat had finished chewing on the cow hoof and proceeded to gnaw on Stan's pantleg. 

“Whoops!” Soup pulled the goat away, then set it down in front of the bag of feed and tore it open. “There ya go, little Gompers! This'll taste waaaay better. Trust me, I tried it!” 

“Baa-aa-aah!” 

Stan watched the goat eating. “Hey Swoose.” 

“It's 'Soos', Mr. Pines!”

“Whatever. You're sayin' the goat just keeps getting scared?” 

“Yep!”

“'Cuz it's genetic?” 

“Uh, I guess so?” 

“Well NOT ON MY WATCH! After one day of Stan’s Scare-A-Thon Therapy Session, this goat’s gonna be so desensitized it’ll never faint again!” 

 

First, Stan got Moose to wire his satellite to pirate-stream horror movies from Japan. (Watching these also traumatized Puce, which Stan found hilarious.) Next Stan hired a clown (who he did not pay) and then practice his jump scares (which made Soos scream so loud it scared off all the birds in a three-mile radius). After that, Stan converted the Museum into a haunted house, complete with sheet-ghosts, cobwebs, and a looped sound track of death metal, complete with screaming. He shoved Gompers in and locked it tight. 

He didn't realize until he went back three hours later that he'd also locked the child labor. Moose had collapsed on the floor in the middle of the room – but Gompers was stumbling around bleating to himself. It didn't look like he'd played dead at all!

Stan grinned. “Alright, _now_ we're makin' progress!”

“That's great, Mr. Pines,” Bruce gasped. “You should – oh sweet burrito angels – you should totally save this stuff for Summerween.” 

“Summer-what?”

“Summerween!” Soup struggled to sit up and collapsed. “It's – it's this holiday where – oh man I'm having a panic attack.”

Gompers clonked over, bleated, and started chewing on Soos' face. 

Stan roared with laughter and slapped his knee. “Ha! This is goat's the best! Alright, Floose –”

“Soos.”

“Get ready for the main event. Something even scarier than Japanese horror movies or that weird mold growing in the corner.”

Sue sat up. “Okay, but if I don't come back, tell my grandma I love her and give all my stuff to charity.” 

“The Mystery Shack appreciates your donations!”

 

Night was falling and the full moon was out. Luckily Soup had fixed the golf cart right down to the headlights, so they trundled along the beaten road in relative safety. Gompers and Soos were in the backseat, the kid's arms wrapped around Gompers like it was a really smelly plushy. He grinned. When he was done that goat would be almost as hardcore as Stan himself!

When they got close enough, Stan stopped the truck, hustled around to the trunk and started handing a stuff to Soup. 

“Okay. Run ahead and put these all around the tree ahead. The batteries are all dying so the light'll flicker all weird and creepy. _This_ one has a full battery. Lie down at the bottom of the tree, and then when I give the signal, shine it right at the bark.” 

“Sure, Mr. Pines! Which tree is this again?” 

“The one with a human soul was trapped in its bark writhing in agony!” 

“Ok!” 

Stan gave him a shove and then hustled back to the cart, where Gompers was currently chewing on the back seat. He hopped back in the driver's seat, waited three seconds and then drove slowly up to the Tree of the Screaming Tourist. It was hard to see the shape of the messed-up bark, which would make it even creepier when Zeus lit up the flashlights. 

He parked, took his portable radio out of the trunk, and then grabbed Gompers. He set the goat down in front of the tree, backed up, and hovered his finger over the “play” button. 

“Okay, Sluice...NOW!”

From the radio, a hollow scream filled the air and the whole tree lit up with a flickering yellow light. 

“Ha! That's perfect!” 

“Baa-aa-aah,” said Gompers. 

He grinned, but before he could tell Zoop to step it up, the lights suddenly flickered. They turned orange, then red. The radio suddenly crackled with static and he dropped it as electricity singed his hand. The bark of the tree started moving and a huge ghost-y thing ballooned out of it, just a massive face made of fire and fury. Stan backed up with a shout. Several tree branches snapped and started bending like spider arms. One of them swung around from the back of the tree – and a certain pear-shaped mechanic was dangling from its twigs. 

He waved. “Hi, Mr. Pines! I'm a hostage!” 

The spirit's yellow eyes turned on him. Its pupils went red. “ _YOOUUUUU!_ ” 

“AAH!” 

He sprinted for the golf cart, but the spirit lashed out and smashed it with a bark-covered arm. He grabbed Gompers and held it up. 

“JUST TAKE THE GOAT, TAKE THE GOAT!” 

“ _Do you know how long my spirit has been stuck in that tree, completely alone, just listening to those stupid squirrel-squids chatter about acorns and sushi? And after years of waiting for you to come back, you finally bring people to visit me – and you tell every last one of them how terrifying I am, so they'll never! Come! BACK!_ ” The face swelled until it blotted out the sky. Its heat seared his skin. “ _AM I SCARY ENOUGH FOR YOU NOW, STAN PINES?!_ ” 

He screamed and tried to run, dropping the kid, but she swooped down and grabbed him up. She lifted him higher and higher, squeezing him so tightly he could feel his bones creak. He could barely breathe! He had a funny feeling he wasn't the Stan Pines she was talking about, but he couldn't get enough air to tell her that!

“Um, excuse me? Ms. Tree Spirit?” 

They both looked at Soos, who was wiggling one of his chubby little hands to get the spirit's attention. 

“ _Hrrrrr,_ ” she growled. 

He smiled. “Oh, I'm a him, actually! Although I do have a feminine softness. It sounds like you're mad because you've been lonely for so long, right? But Mr. Pines has been bringing people to see you all the time!” 

“ _They are TERRIFIED of me!_ ” 

“Not everyone.” He pointed. 

Gompers was standing on the ground below, absently chewing on a fallen stick. The ghost growled and moved closer, her face distorting until her burning yellow eyes were the size of whole cars, and her face was a gaping maw dripping with reddish flame, mere inches from the goat's puny face. 

“ _DO YOU FEAR ME, LITTLE GOAT?!_ ” she boomed, and her voice was so loud and deep the trees nearby actually shivered and creaked on their roots. 

Gompers blinked. 

“Baa-aa-aah,” he said, and resumed his chewing. 

“ _Hmm._ ”

“Good goat,” Stan managed. The spirit scowled and squeezed a little harder. 

“ _But this is not what we agreed to. I don't want people to be afraid of me!_ ”

“But scariness is part of the fun!” Soos said earnestly. “Plus it's a fun way to spend time together! My dad never hangs out with me, but Mr. Pines and I watched a horror movie marathon. And even though I wet myself a couple of times, I wouldn't trade that time for the world. I'll bet the families who visited you remember how frightening and fun it was, and they'll probably come back to see you again next year!” 

Stan could see the spirit thinking it over. 

“Baa-aa-aah,” added the goat. 

The spirit snorted and gave Stan a hard look, those ruby peepers staring right into his soul. “ _You will keep your promise, Stan Pines? You will not leave me to suffer in isolation?_ ” 

“Guarantee it,” he wheezed. “Main attraction. Every tour. Can't breathe.” 

“ _Very well. But if you break your promise one more time, the woods will never be safe for you again._ ” 

She let go of Soos and Stan, who hit the forest floor with a dull thump. The spirit withdrew into the bark, lifting her arms to become branches again, while the bark of the trunk twisted and rippled back to its previous shape. Stan waited for a second, but the tree didn't so much as twitch. 

He sprang to his feet and scooped up the goat. “Ha! You did it! You beautiful monster, you really did it! You looked that tree-thing straight in the big yellow eye and didn't even _twitch!_ I bet this goat could handle the frigging apocalypse without batting an eye!” 

“Probably!” Soos agreed cheerfully. 

Stan smirked, then mashed Soos' head in a noogie. “Ya didn't do too bad yourself, there, ya midget.” 

“ _Really?!_ ” 

“Uh, are those actual stars in your eyes?” 

“For you, Mr. Pines, I would go full-on anime.” 

“Don't make this weird, kid. Now let's see if the golf cart's drivable. I'm allergic to all this bonding and I left my old-man tonic in the Shack.” 

“Soda isn't tonic, Mr. Pines.”

“Says you.” 

“Baa-aa-aah.”

**Author's Note:**

> “A myotonic goat, otherwise known as the fainting goat, is a domestic goat whose muscles freeze for roughly 3 seconds when the goat feels panic. Though painless, this generally results in the animal collapsing on its side. The characteristic is caused by a hereditary genetic disorder called myotonia congenita. When startled, younger goats will stiffen and fall over. Older goats learn to spread their legs or lean against something when startled, and often they continue to run about in an awkward, stiff-legged shuffle.”
> 
> \- from a-source-I-forgot-to-save-the-website-for
> 
> Also Nour386 came up with the idea about why the Tree was screaming!  I had a different idea but this one is so much better!!!  
> @nour386


End file.
